


Phase One, In Which John Gets His Coke (Cock?)

by ABeautifulSleeper



Series: McLennon McDonald's Shenanigans [2]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Coffee Shops, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, M/M, McDonald's, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Safe Sane and Consensual, Verbal Processing, cute dates, fast food au, past questionable behavior, the sequel literally only one person asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:34:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABeautifulSleeper/pseuds/ABeautifulSleeper
Summary: Now from John's POV, what happened after John serenaded Paul in McDonald's that day? Will he finally get his "large Coke"? (You've already seen the tags, but he hasn't, so hush.)
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Series: McLennon McDonald's Shenanigans [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2199423
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Two things: 1. You should probably read the fic that came before this first (yes, it's crack, but yes, its events occur right before this story starts). 2. Thanks Dakota, you're literally the only one who wanted this, so consider this a gift for you.

Two entire weeks had passed since the fateful day that John pushed the envelope too far, and that lovely lad at the McDonald’s across the high street from his own job had simultaneously scared the absolute _shit_ out of him and also given him a bit of a boner (fortunately, he didn’t think the other lad had noticed that bit, or he might have decided to just smash his skull in and be done with it). So John had a bit of a thing for getting roughed up, sue him, the world was arse-over-tits for that _50 Shades_ kind of thing these days. And it had only been a few days after that that he’d decided to go through with his hare-brained idea to rustle up a band of his art school hooligan friends to serenade the lad ( _Paul,_ his brain provided helpfully) in the middle of the lunch hour rush, shocking the tourists but getting little visible reaction from the intended target of his behavior. At least Paul hadn’t seemed to _completely_ hate it, though he also hadn’t swooned over himself and fallen into John’s arms, which meant he’d need to go back to the drawing board.

Something had been holding him back, however. He’d really thought hard about what Paul had said to him by the dumpsters that day, and about how he really had been acting like a right pig, not taking a hint. If Paul had been a lass and not a fit, semi-muscular bloke, it’s pretty likely that he’d have had the coppers on his tail months ago, and while maybe the John of 5 years ago wouldn’t have been so open to this sort of introspection, the John who’d enrolled in a gender studies elective had come to realize that his own behavior was really, _really_ not acceptable, and he’d been doubting if Paul were actually remotely interested in him or if he were simply tolerating John’s (relatively) harmless behaviors now that he’d threatened him properly. So John was giving himself a cooling-off period, so to speak, before going back into the McDonald’s to try to have a more serious chat with Paul about maybe going out together sometime. See if Paul was any more receptive to him when he came back, if he’d missed him a bit maybe, or if he was back to giving those glares that John thought might make a lesser man drop dead on the spot. As much of a pain as it might be, if Paul really and truly didn’t want him hanging around, he could find another McDonald’s within walking distance of his Starbucks, or maybe try out the Subway down the road a bit.

He found himself skulking a bit behind the trash bins on the side street, not sure if he really wanted to walk in and face the problems he’d made for himself just yet or if he wanted to give it another few days. He could be brash, sure, and seem tough as anything, but this conversation was one he didn’t really relish the thought of barreling through with his usual lack of planning. He’d tried talking it through with himself in the shower that morning, but every time it came down to spitting out the words to ask for a date he got tongue-tied, not at all his usual flirtatious self, and he was afraid he’d bollocks it up again here.

_Come on then, Lennon,_ he thought. _No point standing around on the pavement like a useless prick, either he wants you or he doesn’t._

Gathering up his wits and straightening his posture, he walked to the door of the McDonald’s and pushed it open, fortunately _not_ managing to brain any of the children running around screaming, apparently unsupervised. He wasn’t sure if there was a birthday party going on or if a group of entitled parents had just been letting their spawn run amok for no reason other than they could, but he’d barely been in here 15 seconds and he could already feel a tension headache coming on. He walked past them, dodging between them as best he could on his way to the counter.

Perhaps he was lucky or perhaps the shrill screeching had been sufficient determent for other customers, because there was no line at the counter. Unfortunately, there was also no Macca at the counter, but instead that tall, skinny, vampire-looking lad was standing there with a scowl on his face.

“Welcome to hell, I mean McDonald’s, can I take your order?” Dracula grumbled.

“Er, I mean…yes, but first, can ye tell me if Paul’s here?” John asked, nervously trying to peer back to see if Paul might be lurking in the back somewhere.

“Aye, he’s here, but I don’t think he wants to talk to ye right now,” the other lad replied, smirking a bit.

“Oh, well, uh, can I get a Big Mac and a Sprite then?” John mumbled. Paul must _hate_ him then, maybe he’d ducked back into the freezer to avoid seeing John.

“Sure. That’ll be four-twenty, blaze it,” Dracula answered with a snort at his own joke. John just rolled his eyes and forked over the money. With a sigh, he took his receipt and went to go stand and wait for his food to be ready. He stood watching the chaos of the birthday party (he’d spotted enough children wearing little party hats to be relatively sure that’s what was going on) when suddenly, from the back, he caught a glimpse of what could only be Ronald McDonald himself. Some poor sod had clearly had to show up kitted out in the clown costume for the crazy kiddos, who then either squealed with delight or screamed in terror and tried to make a break for the exit before the parents could stop them. John looked on in amusement as Ronald had to pose for pictures with the birthday boy, hand out little plastic toys, and try to dance around with the kids without accidentally kicking one with his ridiculous oversized shoes. He almost didn’t hear his number called, he’d been so focused on the chaos in the dining area, but turned around by the third time Dracula called his order out in a deadpan.

“Is it normal that you’ll have birthdays here then?” John asked, making conversation as he grabbed some extra napkins.

“No, not really. It used to be more common, but we’ve hardly had any since I’ve been working here, thank fuck. We have to take turns being Ronald, ye see, and it was my turn last time, and I don’t think they’ll be asking me again any time soon, the kids thought Ronald might want to suck their blood or something. No clue why,” he grinned, showing _exactly_ why he would not be on clown duty.

“Who’s stuck in the clown suit today, then?” John asked, willing the clown to turn around so he could get a look at his face.

“I’ll give you two guesses, but I don’t think ye’ll need but one,” Dracula answered, right as Ronald turned around to head towards the counter, a child having knocked over their drink and needing napkins to contain the spill. John was suddenly able to look past the face paint to see none other than the lad John had come to see.

John stood there, jaw nearly on the floor and Dracula throwing his head back in a mad cackle as Paul approached with a sour look on his face, grabbed a fistful of napkins, and turned back around after giving them both a look that said clearly enough “if you say ONE word to me right now I will shove these clown shoes so far up your arse you’ll be tasting the circus for days”.

“Is that why he doesn’t want to talk to me then?” John managed to ask once he was able to speak again.

“Aye. He’s not angry with you, I don’t think. He’s actually been pining a bit since you’ve not been in in nearly a fortnight, though he’ll never admit it. ‘I’m just worried he’s gone and had a heart attack, George. All those burgers aren’t good for your health, ye know.’ That sort of excuse for not shutting up about ye,” Dracula (George) responded, drying tears from the corners of his eyes from his laughter. “He had just said earlier ‘ye know, George, it’ll be just my luck that _this_ will be the shift that idiot decides to show his face again, and I’ll be running around in a clown suit like,’ and then _here you are_ , couldn’t be more perfect if I’d planned it out meself.”

John snorted at that, but was on the whole pleased to hear how much Paul had apparently been talking about him to his co-workers. “I think I’ll go find meself a seat upstairs then, and you can tell him to come find me when he’s been de-clowned. I need to talk to him about something, and I’m not sure either of us want to do that with him still wearing that kit,” he told George, grabbing his food, napkins, and a straw to head upstairs.

He sat in the upstairs dining area a while, finishing his burger and drink quickly. He didn’t mind having to sit and wait though, he was near an outlet so he just plugged his phone in and settled in playing one of those match-three games he got addicted to so easily. He’d just run out of lives when he heard the chair across from him scrape across the floor as he was joined by a now more normal-looking Paul, face and hair wet from sweat and rinsing the clown paint off. John put his phone down, and they looked at each other for a moment before anyone had the wherewithal to say anything at all.

“Hey,” John finally came up with. _Hey? Seriously? Is that the best you can do?_ He cleared his throat to try again. “So, uh…nice clown work?” Paul grimaced, cheeks pinking up.

“I’m constantly looking forward to the day when I never have to wear that godawful costume again, y’know? It’s a damn good thing we only have events like this maybe 4 times a year, or I’d have quit by now,” he replied. “It…well, ‘s’not dignified, is it?”

John grinned a bit. “I mean, I’ve definitely seen worse clowns than that. You at least managed to put on a good face for the kiddies, even if you secretly wanted to die inside the whole time. I don’t think I could have done that much, I’d have tried to drown meself in the soda fountain or something.”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t hate kids, but I’d prefer not to be wearing enough face paint to single-handedly destroy all my skincare routine’s hard work. And also maybe not have them be destroying my workplace, since usually I’d have to help clean up the aftermath. I did Benny a favor though, he was supposed to be in the clown kit today but I traded with him because he’s got a hot date tonight and can’t afford to be walking around with a massive breakout ruining his already plain mug, ye know. So he’s doing all my share of the clean-up work as well. No one likes the clown suit,” Paul explained. “Anyhow…George said ye wanted to talk to me about something? I don’t think it was the Ronald outfit though, unless you’ve become incredibly dull during the last two weeks.”

“Ah, yeah, while your performance was truly divine, one for the books, in fact if this whole Macca’s thing doesn’t work out for ye I’d recommend looking into clown college, it isn’t actually what I came here to talk about. That was just a bonus,” John said, still skirting around what he actually wanted to say. Paul just scoffed at that comment, the grin on his face saying that he wasn’t actually offended by it.

“Are you going to get on with it, or should I go get some food while I wait for ye to work up the gumption to spit it out?” he teased, making like he actually intended to leave.

“No! I’m, well…I guess there’s two things I need to say. First, I wanted to apologize again for how I was acting before. I know I apologized before, but that was at least partly under threat of getting me face rearranged. I’ve done some thinking, and incidentally started a gender studies course about a week ago at uni and our very first reading assignment was about how people being harassed at their workplace and being stalked at work suffer, and how that kind of thing constitutes a sort of violence even if you’re not actually putting a hand on them? And it ‘clicked’ for me, made me realize exactly what a piece of shit I was being, and that I really needed to re-evaluate what made me think that that was acceptable at all, like.” John took a deep breath before he continued. “So, I know what I did was really fucking awful, and I don’t know why you didn’t just call the police and report me for being a sex pest or something, but I’m grateful all the same. And while I know that I meant no real harm, you didn’t have any way of knowing that, and I understand that now, and I’m trying to learn more on how to not be an absolute wankstain of a human being.”

“I…I hadn’t expected that, but I appreciate it very much. Because, yeah, you were annoying, but that day when I scared the piss out of you, I did it because it seemed like it was escalating and you were following me, and I didn’t know what you intended by it. I hadn’t really thought as hard about all that as I think you have been lately, but it did occur to me that you could be planning on following me home, and that was the thought that made me snap, y’know?” Paul said, chewing on his knuckle. “I don’t really hold it against you anymore, because I did understand your first apology, but it makes sense that you’re apologizing again, too. You’re trying to be a better person, which is always good in my books.”

John released the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t take it too harshly, or it would make this next thing really stupid and insensitive of me to ask, probably.” Paul looked at him quizzically. “The other thing I wanted to talk about, which, I’m probably going to fuck it up, apologies in advance…being as how you didn’t immediately fall in love with me after I serenaded you with that song I wrote, I guess I’ve got to try the more boring route of just asking you out on a date like a normal person. I don’t suppose you’d be too interested in that sort of thing, would you?” John asked, trying not to stumble over his words.

Paul threw his head back in laughter. _Great, the mere thought of going on a date with you is too laughable to respond with words._ As if he could read John’s mind, Paul got himself back under control (mostly). “Sorry, sorry, not laughing at what you’re thinking of, I swear. You just sounded so unenthusiastic, and I thought it was funny…” he swallowed the last of his chuckles. “I’d imagine I can find some time in my veeeeerrrrrrry busy social calendar to set aside for us to go on a boring normal person date, if you’re lucky. Is it too much to assume that you’ve had an idea where you’d like to take me? I hear normal people like coffee or, if they’re American, miniature golf.”

“I don’t know about that miniature golf, but I do happen to know of some places other than my workplace where we can get coffee, if you want to be a proper normie about it,” John replied, heart shifting back up to its regular place after having nearly fallen out his arsehole. He was _so sure_ he’d blown it completely, time and time again, and yet…Paul seemed willing to give him another shot, somehow. He wasn’t sure if that meant he was just _that_ attractive, or if Paul had more beauty than brains, being willing to go out with his former harasser. Either way, it was working out in his favor, no point looking a gift horse in the mouth and all.

“Mmmm, I’m not opposed. Might get tea, myself, but if they’ve got any half-decent baked goods, I’m content,” Paul said, winking. _Lord, but he was gorgeous._

“How’s about you give me your phone number, and we can set the time and date once you’ve had time to look at that calendar of yours,” John suggested, picking up his phone from where he’d set it on the table.

Phone numbers exchanged, Paul excused himself to get back to work. His shift wasn’t over yet, and he’d been taking a break while Benny and George dealt with the shitshow the party had left behind, but he was nearly dry from washing up now, and he needed to get back on his register. With a small wave, he headed back downstairs, leaving John to try to calm his heartrate before his fitness tracker alerted emergency services thinking he was having a heart attack. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made. This one is incredibly brief.

**Saturday 12 September, 20:32**

**Macca:** Hey I think I can do either Tuesday after 4 but before 8 or Thursday anytime after 2, if either of those works for you

**Jon Lemon:** im free thursday after 5, if thats not too late to be drinking coffee

**Macca:** Like I said, I’ll be having tea, so I’m not time constrained like that 😊

**Jon Lemon:** tru tru tru

**Jon Lemon:** so do u want to meet at the place or do u want to meet somewhere else and go together

**Macca:** If it were earlier, I’d be coming from class, but with that much of a break in between I think I’m going to double back home before, so maybe this time it’s easier if we just meet there, my flat’s on the right tube line and I don’t want you to go too far out of your way

**Jon Lemon:** ya that makes sense

**Thursday 17 September, 9:03**

**Jon Lemon:** and were still on for 6?

**Macca:** Yep! I’m looking forward to it, believe it or not I haven’t been on a *real* date in a while

**Jon Lemon:** o rly? y not????

**Macca:** Idk most guys just want to ~netflix and chill~ and the girls I’ve been seeing just want to go to clubs

**Macca:** Not that there’s anything wrong with those, but it’s nice to actually go out in daylight hours wearing something nicer than joggers but not as intense as going-out clothes with someone where you’re actually going to be able to talk to each other

**Macca:** God that just made me sound ancient

**Macca:** I swear I’m not secretly a boomer with really good skin

**Jon Lemon:** sure thing, grandpa

**Jon Lemon:** lucky for u, i have a daddy kink so age is no issue

**Macca:** :OOOOOOOOOO Jesus CHRIST John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have miscalculated, there is purportedly a second person who asked for this? Weird. Hope you're having fun, Katie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They go! On a date! Together!

John had somehow not managed to completely put Paul off with his weird kink jokes (he wasn’t exactly joking, though, but that also wasn’t exactly first date material probably so he’d not be bringing it up again tonight). He hoped. At any rate, Paul had already been standing outside the grungy exterior of John’s favorite café when John got there, only a few minutes past 6. Surely he wouldn’t have come if he’d been so put off by that text? Unless he was just there to drag John out back and actually kick the shit out of him this time, but from the bright smile on that lovely face when he’d spotted John he thought it rather unlikely that he’d be getting injured intentionally this evening.

They’d made it inside, the interior being much more aesthetically pleasing than the outside (to avoid becoming too tourist-infested, likely), the smell of freshly ground coffee and flaky pastry summoning them to the counter to size up the food and drink on offer. Paul, true to his word, opted for some classic black tea with a berry infusion of some sort, and a slice of Victoria sponge, a packet of crisps to help break up the sweetness overload. John had gone for a simple cappuccino, and a chicken and rocket sandwich, with a duo of tartlets for dessert. He hadn’t had time for lunch today, and was feeling hanger threatening to ruin his whole night if he didn’t get a handle on things quickly. They’d each paid for their own food, John wondering vaguely if he shouldn’t have bought Paul’s since it was John who’d done the inviting and chosen the venue, but Paul didn’t seem perturbed by John’s lack of offering, and they sat down at a cosy table in a corner for added privacy.

“Well, we’ve made it this far. I’m glad we figured things out, this is a really nice café, and I’m glad you suggested it,” Paul said, sipping at his tea.

“Yeah, it’s probably my favorite in all of London. It looks like shite outside, but that’s just a defense mechanism against loud American tourists who’d come in and get angry it wasn’t just like Starbucks and then demand to speak to the manager when they couldn’t get their unicorn Frappuccino. I like to come here sometimes when I’ve got readings to do for uni, can’t focus in me flat with my roommate around constantly banging on his drums in the corner of the living room, and whenever I try to study in Starbucks for the coffee discount I always end up chatting with my coworkers instead, so it’s best I come here if I really need to focus,” John explained. Paul just nodded, understanding the study struggle.

“I can relate, before I moved into my studio flat last year I lived in student flats with a couple of lads I knew back in Liverpool, and they wouldn’t shut up for love nor money; if they weren’t playing Xbox at all hours screaming into their headsets, they were shagging whatever bird they’d found down the local, and for some reason they always found the ones that loved to imitate the worst sorts of porn noises. I ended up just sitting in the pub trying to do my fucking essays, because at least the drunks in there were more predictable in when they’d be quiet for a bit,” Paul said around a bite of his dessert. “So, is gender studies your degree, or is it just something you’re trying out as an elective?”

“It’s just an elective, though maybe if I’d tried a course earlier/taken different A-levels it would be my main area of study. Nah, I’m studying art history and studio art, like. I’ve always loved doodling on any flat surface I could get me hands on without getting caught, figured I’d make a go of doing it for a living, but also me aunt told me I ought to do uni so that if I couldn’t hack it as an artist, I’d still have the book learning and the fancy paper to get a job teaching art classes to snotty kids someplace, and since she’s paying for the tuition I didn’t fight it too hard.” John shrugged. ‘s’not so bad, usually. I fuckin’ hated school growing up though, too many rules and not enough fun. Uni’s a bit better because they don’t take attendance so if I don’t feel like showing up every day, it’s not got Mimi breathing down me neck about truancy and the like. And I don’t have to take maths, which is the best part,” he finished with a grin. Paul laughed, not being a maths man himself.

“Cheers to that, mate. I didn’t like school so much myself, I was capable enough, but I had a hard time focusing for a while. Had some family stuff going on, and while some of my teachers were understanding, some of them were right pricks about it, and their subjects weren’t even that interesting.” Paul picked at his napkin, clearly not wanting to elaborate on the “family stuff”. John couldn’t blame him if it was anything like his own drama; dead mothers were probably too much of a bummer for a first date. “I’m doing English literature myself, I’ve always loved the way words can go together on the page or read aloud to take ye to a different place entirely, make ye feel things, give ye a laugh or teach a lesson. I dunno if I’m aiming to be a writer myself, or just teach to snotty kids like you said, but I’m enjoying what I’m reading so far, so I figure I’ll sort that out when I get there.”

Their conversation carried on, no awkward silences as they constantly found new topics they could both speak to. John learned that Paul had a little brother, was a vegetarian ( _so that’s why he only ever eats the fries at McDonald’s, huh_ ), loved dogs (but didn’t have one yet, his flat was firmly against pets), and could play guitar ( _be still, my heart_ ). John in return revealed that he had two half-sisters that he wished he saw more of, was a fan of eating whatever he could get cheaply, had always adored cats growing up (and missed his dearly, having left her in Liverpool under the care of his aunt), and also played guitar when he was able. They had similar tastes in music, mostly, though John had perhaps more room in his heart for techno than Paul found healthy (never mind his own love of show tunes). John preferred sci-fi movies and arthouse films to Paul’s rom-coms and foreign horror movies, but they both agreed that when it came to TV, a good drama was better than a shitty over-hyped sitcom ( _Friends_ and the American version of _The Office_ , we’re talking to you). Paul grudgingly admitted that he cried over _Say Yes to the Dress_ when he’d had too much wine, and John only laughed a little. They discussed their favorite things about back home, as well as the strangest things they’d seen in London since coming down to study. They’d likely have kept chattering away on and on but for the barista gently clearing her throat, making them realize that they were alone in the café and the café was in the process of closing. They hurried to stack their dishes and bring them up to the counter, both knowing how much it sucked when customers wouldn’t leave and it was time to close, and they giggled as they made their way outside, amused with how late it had gotten and how neither of them had noticed the time at all.

“So, uh…I dunno about you, but I think that’s the best first date I’ve ever been on,” Paul said, wrapping his arms around himself against the chill of the late summer night. He was looking up at John through his eyelashes, head tilted down, blush tinging his cheeks visible even in the dim glow of the streetlights.

“Yeah, it’s not even a question for me. I…well, at the risk of ruining the illusion of me as the super cool, super handsome Starbucks barista that I’m sure you have, I’ve not had nearly so much fun just talking to someone before. People are usually pretty boring, like. Either they’ve nothing to say at all or they’ve nothing to say that’s worth listening to, and you’re just not like that,” John replied. “I want to hear just about everything you have to say. Minus your wholly incorrect opinion that Superman would beat Batman in a fight, that’s just horseshit.”

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response, or we’ll be on this pavement arguing until sunrise,” Paul retorted. “And I can’t be here as late as all that, I’ve got the opening shift in the morning and then class after that that I need to be awake for. But really, I’ve had a great time. And, if you’re game, I’ve got a spare ticket to a comedy show Sunday evening, George was supposed to come with me but he’s let himself get behind on his own coursework and will be probably still be busy trying to absorb his music theory text through osmosis or something then,” he asked, trying not to seem too eager but also not wanting to leave without at least tentative plans for their next get-together.

“Hmm, Sunday evening…you’re in luck, I’ve just decided I can postpone my Sunday ritual human sacrifice to Monday,” John joked. It was easy enough for him, getting a laugh out of Paul. He wondered if the other lad laughed so easily for everyone, or if he was in possession of superior comedic genius. He supposed he’d be finding out Sunday.

“Right, glad to hear that you’re able to shift that around. Would hate to inconvenience you too much,” Paul said, smiling that smile that made John wonder if he didn’t maybe have a heart problem of some sort. Surely all this acceleration of his heartrate wasn’t normal?

“D’ye want me to walk you to the tube?” John asked, trying to hold on to these precious last moments.

“I mean, only if ye want to. It’s not like I’ve got any other weird blokes following me around in the street these days, though,” Paul teased. John stuck out his tongue, nodding in the direction of the tube and setting off, followed quickly by Paul.

“Yer a menace, you are,” he grumbled, flashing Paul a smile to let him know he wasn’t put out. They walked along to the tube station, arms brushing against each other as they walked. John was wishing he’d had the idea to grab Paul’s hand before they started walking, but it was too late now, as they were nearly there.

“Right, Mornington Crescent’s me. Are you going to walk back to wherever your flat is, or take public transit?” Paul asked.

“I’m not too far from here, so I’ll probably just walk it. Are you headed further out, or back into the belly of the beast?” John replied.

“My stop’s south of the river, so back in I’m afraid. I’m not surprised you live near here, Camden seems like it’d suit you.” Paul hesitated, knowing he had to be going or risk having to take the bus.

“Aye, it’s got enough hipsters lately, but not so many that they’ve completely killed the vibe yet. Maybe next time you’re up this way I can show off the flat, play you a song or two,” John said, similarly not wanting to end things just yet. Paul seemed to be on the verge of doing _something_ but he couldn’t tell if it was “leave” or “move in closer.”

“You know how I told you it would be a good idea to ask me on a date like a normal person?” Paul asked, nervous. John nodded. “Well, I’m telling you know I think you ought to kiss me before I miss my train.”

John, taken aback, let out a burst of laughter before taking that leap to lean in and press his lips against Paul’s. It wasn’t the fireworks and stars bursting behind his eyelids that he’d thought it might be, but that’s not to say that this first kiss was in any way lackluster. If he had to think about it, his chapped lips moving against Paul’s softer ones, he’d say it was closer to how it felt to lay in a sunny spot in the park on a warm late spring day, a gentle heat that still spoke of potential excitement and new life, comforting instead of shocking. He could still taste the lingering sweetness of the berry infusion from Paul’s tea in the kiss, even with no tongues involved.

Paul was the one to pull back first, blinking like he’d been hit over the head with something and was a bit stunned still. “I—wow. I wasn’t expecting it to feel quite like that. But I liked it, a lot,” he said. “But now I _really_ have to go. I’ll see you Sunday, please text me when you’re home safe!” And he was gone, dashing through the turnstiles, Oyster card in hand. John was left standing there, grinning like an absolute madman. He eventually started walking home, though the smile never left his face the whole way back. His roommate, sitting there perched behind his drum kit, was frankly terrified, but Ringo wasn’t one to ask too many questions, afraid that today would be the day that John told him he’d finally started his murder spree, thereby making Ringo either an accomplice or forcing him to call the police, and then find a new roommate. More hassle than it was worth, in his opinion. Not too many people who weren’t absolute freaks themselves would be willing to put up with his drumming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more after this!


	4. Chapter 4, aka: what y'all heathens came here for

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The grand finale! What approximately 2 people have been waiting for!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not proofread this. I cannot stand to re-read my own smut once it's written so I really hope it makes sense/is sexy! Let me know what you think.

The last month and a half had been better than John could have ever hoped when he started bothering Paul all those months ago. He and Paul had been managing to find the time to get together for a date at least once a week, usually twice if they could manage it. And between the official “dates” they were seeing each other whenever John would drop in at McDonald’s and Paul was having his meal break, they were texting nearly every day, and just two weeks ago Paul had come by John’s flat to meet Ringo, and had brought George so the four of them could hang out and eat some of George’s ~special brownies~ and watch some weird youtube videos. Paul had ended up falling asleep with his head on John’s chest where the two of them had laid down on the floor, legs tangled together. He hadn’t even stirred when George, from his vantage point on the couch, had noticed them and started making gagging noises, claiming they were being disgustingly sweet and he couldn’t take it. Ringo had been mellowed out to the point of nearly being absorbed by his bean bag chair, and just gave the pair of them a knowing smile before focusing his attention on the acrylic pour video they’d been watching.

They’d been under a kind of unspoken agreement to take things slow, not wanting to just jump into bed and rush things. Not John’s usual M.O., nor Paul’s necessarily, but they both felt sure that whatever it was that they had together was something they didn’t want to muck up by getting their pricks involved too soon. Not that that was stopping John from using his memories from their time together to spin into fantasies that had him climaxing in only a few tugs once he finally got down to it. They’d kissed plenty, and there had been a lot of touching over clothes, with one memorable occasion last weekend when they’d nearly dry humped their way to glory on John’s couch until Ringo had come home from his job painting houses and they’d had to put a pin in it, Ringo being in a talkative mood and somehow not noticing that he’d interrupted something. 

He really was in deep here, deeper than he’d likely ever been, and while he didn’t want to use that one particular l-word so soon, he was starting to think that “like” wasn’t strong enough for what he was feeling. He liked Paul’s appearance, of course, that adorable face and the delightfully plump arse he had were enough to make any male with homosexual tendencies fall in lust, but he was legitimately a great person, too. He got more of John’s jokes than anyone had since his school friend Stuart had, he was a lot better at guitar than he’d let on at first, and when John had his inexplicable melancholic days, he was there to try to brighten him up (or, failing that, keep him company while he wallowed). Not that he was lacking any flaws, he tended to have a hard time putting away his super-peppy “customer service” persona sometimes, and John hated how fake he sounded when he was doing that. He liked to nag John about cleaning up his room whenever he could see it in the background of their video chats, and still didn’t want to share his fries when they had lunch together (“That’s my entire lunch, you cretin. Do ye expect me to just starve my way through the rest of my shift?”).

They’d gone out for dinner at a vegetarian restaurant Paul thought John would like, even though John had a marked distaste for anything that seemed too healthy. He had been right, John getting a black bean burger that was spiced just right so that he didn’t even care that he was eating beans in place of meat, it was so damn tasty. They’d been discussing a short story John had read for that gender studies course he was in, talking about literary devices and symbolism and how it was used to represent changing perceptions of the main character’s gender over dessert, feet bumping against each other under the table, when Paul suddenly interrupted.

“Hey, John, I was thinking…if you’ve not got other plans tonight, after we’ve paid the cheque here, would you like to come back to mine? It’s just a ten minute walk, and I’ve got some decent beer in the fridge if you’d like a drink,” he said.

“Sure, I’d like to see your flat. See if you’ve actually got any right to be getting on me about the state of me room or if you’re a hypocrite,” John teased.

“I can tell you now, I keep things neat. It’s easier when there’s no one else around to blame the mess on,” Paul retorted, John having a history of trying to pin the mess on Ringo (“Why would Ringo come in your room and throw every single article of clothing you have ever owned on the floor, John?” “I dunno, maybe he got bored?”). John refused to look contrite, taking an overlarge mouthful of ice cream in protest and giving himself brain freeze in the process. Paul just rolled his eyes and scraped his spoon along the edges of the ice cream bowl, trying to gather enough for a last mouthful.

Paul paid for their meal this time (they’d gotten in the habit of taking turns instead of going dutch) and they got up from the table to head out. This time as they walked, it was a no-brainer that they’d hold hands, fingers interlocked tightly as they went. It wasn’t a busy street so they didn’t worry about pissing off other pedestrians taking up too much of the pavement with their lovey-dovey antics. He liked how Paul’s hand felt in his own, like a perfect match, not clammy like hands sometimes got, and calloused from his writing and guitar playing. True to his word, it only took them ten minutes to get there, and while John hated having to let go for Paul to dig out his keys to let them into his fourth floor flat, he knew he’d be able to at least get his hands on him more freely once they were on the other side of that door.

As soon as Paul had finished re-locking the door behind them, John had his hands on his waist, pulling him in for a kiss, one that started relatively chaste but quickly turned needy, enjoying the faint aftertaste of dessert he got when his tongue pressed past Paul’s teeth. Paul’s own hands had settled at John’s shoulders, one playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, just shy of being ticklish. John was about to start kissing his way down Paul’s neck when he decided to pull back, looking Paul in the eye and reminding him, “Why don’t you give me that tour of your place before we get too...distracted, and I can’t enjoy it properly?”

Paul sighed heavily, taking a step back and nodded. “Yeah, that’s fair. Although you do know it’s a studio, right? Not too much to see.” He paused to toe off his shoes, John taking his cue and leaving his own boots lined up neatly alongside Paul’s trainers by the door. Waiting for John, Paul enters the main space. “Well, here you have it. My living room and bedroom, all in one. I don’t tend to have guests over much, because there’s hardly room for any chairs, since I decided I’d rather have a real bed instead of a twin or, god forbid,” he shuddered for dramatic effect, “a _futon_. And I don’t like people just crawling all over my bed, getting my duvet dirty with whatever nastiness they’ve brought in off the street. The only kind of nastiness I want in my bed is the sexy kind,” he finished with a wink.

“And let me guess…the kitchen’s through there, and the bathroom behind that other door?” John said, Paul nodding as he headed towards the kitchen.

“So did ye want anything to drink? I’ve got tea, beer, water, a couple of cans of cola, and some orange juice that might still be good, I’ll have to check,” he asked without turning around.

John wasn’t entirely sure where it came from, as he’d more or less sworn to himself that he’d never say it again after the last time, but without thinking, he stated plainly “I’d like a large cock, please.”

Paul nearly tripped over air, catching himself on the doorway to the kitchen and turning around to look at John with an expression of surprise. That morphed quickly to an unreadable look, mouth still slightly open, a furrow to his brow as he took in John’s own horrified expression as he realized what he’d just said. _Oh, fuck. There’s no way he’s not going to throw me out of his flat and refuse to ever see me again, not after that._

“Are you serious?” Paul asked, voice suddenly sounding a great deal more dangerous than it had a few moments prior. John nearly choked on his own spit in his rush to try to apologize, getting out a few unintelligible syllables before Paul cut him off. “Because, if you meant to say Coke instead, you’re out of luck, all I’ve got are Pepsis, but if what you said is actually what you meant…I might be willing and able to quench your thirst.” _WHAT. what. WHAT?????_

John swallowed, trying to process how quickly things had changed from where he’d expected them to go. “Uhhhhhhh…I, well, I—” he gulped. Paul kept looking at him, standing where he was nearly in the kitchen.

“How about this. I’m going to be in the kitchen for the next 5 minutes or so. I’ve just remembered I have some dishes I need to wash urgently. If you’re interested in what you said, why don’t you go to my bathroom and clean yourself up a bit, then come sit on the bed. If you’re not interested in what you said, you can just sit here in this chair and I’ll bring ye a beer or something. Your choice,” Paul said, turning around to enter the kitchen and busy himself at the sink. John stood there for a few seconds, paralyzed with indecision, before lurching suddenly towards the bathroom. He closed the door behind him, looking at himself in the mirror and wondering if he’d fallen into a coma and this was all some weird dream. He pinched himself on his wrist, and it hurt, so he guessed he must be awake, and then he panicked and set to trying to sort out Paul’s fancy little bidet attachment on his toilet. He didn’t know that he’d be clean enough for getting his arse licked, so he hoped Paul wasn’t planning on trying that, but he’d be fine if they actually ended up having sex, probably. He thanked every deity he could remember the name of that he hadn’t had a big lunch, and that dinner had also been relatively light compared to his usual meal. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to come back from it if he somehow managed to literally shit on his boyfriend’s dick the first time they slept together. He’d probably just cease to exist right then and there, his cells shattered apart by the embarrassment.

He managed to dry off, flush, wash his hands and give himself a quick pep talk quickly enough, leaving the bathroom and perching on the edge of the bed just as Paul came back from his urgent dishwashing mission, the sleeves of his red button-down pushed up to show his pale forearms. John was immediately fixated on them, the contrast of the dark hair there one of his favorite ordinary-but-sexy things about Paul. When he finally managed to look up at Paul, who was smirking at him with a dangerous glint in his eye still ( _oh, he’s going to eat me alive_ ), he tried to match his smirk but was sure he still looked nervous. He talked a big game, sure, but this whole evening had taken unexpected turns to lead them here, and besides, it had been months since John had actually bottomed for anyone, and he was hoping he wouldn’t be too tense or tight to enjoy himself.

Paul could see that in his face, it seemed, because his eyes softened, and he sat down next to John gently, reaching out to take his hands in his own. “You do know we don’t have to do this, right? Either of us can just say the word at any time, and we can stop, or slow down. I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do, and I know we haven’t exactly talked about when we’d like to take this next step, but I’d never want you to feel like you had to do something you weren’t ready for, physically or emotionally. Even if you did feel like you ‘started it’, like,” he murmured softly, squeezing John’s hands for emphasis.

John sighed, squeezing Paul’s hands back. “Aye, I know. And I _do_ want to, with you. You have _no idea_ how much I want to, especially after last weekend, feeling how hard you were for me on my couch, even after Ringo came in and interrupted us,” he said. “I’m just nervous because of how _much_ I want it, and how long it’s been since I’ve been properly fucked. I don’t want my stupid body to be getting in the way of a good time,” he admitted. Paul leaned in, pressing their noses together as he kissed John once before pausing to speak.

“I can take my time with you, love. Work you open nice and slow, use as much lube as we need so no one gets hurt. I’ll suck you off while you take my fingers, make it feel really good. I’ve been thinking about getting my mouth on you for weeks now, got a bit of an oral fixation, y’know? I’d like to taste you, feel how thick you are on my tongue when you’re right on the edge of coming before I back off, leaving you gasping for more before I give you what you’ve been wanting. How’s that sound?” he murmured against John’s lips, sending shivers running down his spine from the heat of his breath on his skin. _Christ, he’s going to kill me._

“Well, in that case…” he whispers back, “what are ye waiting for then, Paulie?” And with that, Paul closed in for the kill, kissing John harshly, pushing him to lay back on the bed with the force of his own weight. He leaned over him, one arm supporting his weight and keeping him from knocking all the air out of John’s lungs, his other hand stroking its way up John’s side under his jumper, using enough pressure that it didn’t make John cackle in a tickle attack. John’s own hands, free again now, busied themselves first with tangling in Paul’s hair, then as Paul shifted to suck a bruise into the skin of his throat, to trying to unbutton the other man’s shirt. They got tangled up for a moment, Paul leaning up to finish the lower half of the buttons and pull of the shirt himself. John had seen Paul without a shirt a couple of times before, but never for more than a few seconds as he was changing from his McDonald’s uniform into something that didn’t smell like grease and the weather wasn’t really right for sitting around topless. Paul was muscular, not really in a hyper-defined meathead way, but more so in a “I am required to lift heavy boxes of soda mixes and frozen meat at work” kind of way. John loved the light smattering of chest hair he had (and wasn’t that a thought, that it might be _more_ someday and he’d hopefully still be around to see it?), much in the same way that Paul’s arm hair was innocent enough but still very much a turn-on.

“Mmm, like what you see?” Paul asked, already able to see the answer in John’s stare. He had caught on to John’s enjoyment of his body hair, and took it as a compliment. He didn’t really get it himself, he didn’t exactly hate body hair on other men, but it wasn’t something that got him going, either. “Let’s have yours off too then, fair’s fair.” John complied, tugging the jumper over his head as gracefully as a man on his back could hope to, tossing it at the chair in the corner. When Paul leaned back down over him, the first contact of skin-on-skin was electric, the warmth from his chest sending a message directly to John’s prick that if he wasn’t already hard enough to pound nails, it was time to get that way, and quickly. It was all John could do to lay there and remember to breathe as Paul kissed down his chest, pausing at his nipples to lick and blow at them until they’d tightened up almost painfully from the pleasure of it all. John lay one hand on Paul’s head, absent-mindedly playing with the dark locks between his fingers as he got closer and closer to John’s waistband.

Paul took his time, kissing and licking at John’s happy trail, enjoying the smell of his skin, a cleaner, lighter smell compared to the musk of the cologne John favored. He looked up at John, asking for permission as he toyed with the button of his trousers. John met his eyes, and simply groaned and nodded as his eyes slipped shut and his hips made an effort at pushing up into Paul’s grip. With a chuckle, he undid the button and zip, pulling both the denim and the soft cotton of John’s boxers down at once. John opened his eyes again to watch as Paul pulled back again, moving his legs as needed to help Paul get him naked at last. He was able to see that Paul was straining against his own trousers, as the other man pushed a palm against his own zip for relief before undoing his own trousers and shimmying out of them. Paul chose to leave his own pants on for now, though they weren’t really hiding anything, the dark spot at the tip proof of how much he was enjoying getting his mouth on John’s body, and the tenting of the fabric so obscene that John was already imagining how he’d be walking funny the next morning if he wasn’t careful.

“God, look at you…you keep saying how I’m the prettiest lad you ever laid eyes on, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got that backwards,” Paul sighed, skimming his hands up and down John’s legs, smoothing over the sparse reddish-gold hair there. Where Paul was visibly hairy, John didn’t have much hair anywhere but his head and at the base of his prick, and what there was was hard to see in most lighting. John had always hated that about himself, having been teased for being “not hairy enough to be a real man” for most of his teenage years, but Paul seemed to be perfectly content with it. He was still uneasy under Paul’s intense gaze, though, afraid his eyes would linger too long at the pooch of his stomach where he’d had a few too many sweets over the years, or at the thickness of his thighs where all those Big Macs had indeed started to catch up with him. He didn’t want to get this far, have been this vulnerable with someone, just for them to be disgusted with his body when they got naked.

He let out an uncomfortable whine, squirming a bit under the intensity of it all, and Paul fortunately was content to let it be for now, gesturing instead for John to open the drawer of his bedside table and hand him the supplies he kept there. Finding a mostly-full pump bottle of lube and a sheet of condoms, he handed them down the bed to Paul where he was making himself comfortable between John’s legs again.

“Give us that other pillow up there, will ye?” Paul asked, and John passed him the pillow and allowed him to shift him enough to put it under his hips. Satisfied that John was exactly where he wanted him, and didn’t look uncomfortable anymore, he started kissing and sucking at John’s thighs.

“You just lay there and enjoy it, love. Let me know if anything doesn’t feel good, or if it feels _really_ good, all right?” Paul said. “Oh, and please don’t try to fuck my throat, my gag reflex is a little too sensitive for that, but aside from that you can do what you need to do.” John had no more than nodded before Paul’s tongue was lapping at the base of his prick, a slick finger starting to massage his entrance with more care than John would have used on himself. He allowed himself to simply take in the sensations as Paul’s mouth began focusing more on his length, licking from the base up to the tip and sucking at his frenulum before slowly licking his way back down. He had one hand back in Paul’s hair, inadvertently tugging at the silky strands whenever his mouth was doing something truly fantastic, the other covering his own mouth as he tried not to make too many embarrassing sounds. But _Christ,_ it had been so _long_ since he’d been with someone who made it feel this good for him. He hardly registered it as Paul’s finger started pressing harder, tracing over and around the pucker of his arsehole before finally, _finally_ pressing in, slowly, only to the first knuckle at first before taking it further and further until that finger was entirely in.

“Oh, God,” John heard himself groan through his own hand. He felt, more than heard, Paul’s responding snicker as he switched from licking up the sides of his prick to actively sucking the head into his mouth, teasing droplets of salty precum from the tip. Between the finger now pumping in and out of him, pausing only when Paul pulled it out all the way to add more lube and start introducing a second finger, and the wet suction on his cock, he could have been being shot at by a firing squad and he’s not sure he’d have noticed. Everything Paul was doing to him just felt so good, had all his nerve endings singing. Well, almost all of them. Paul curved his fingers, pressing with unnerving accuracy at that little bump inside of John that nearly made him forget not to push up into the other lad’s mouth as his back arched from the tingling delight making sparks up and down his spine.

John had no way of knowing how much time had passed since Paul had started trying to destroy him with his maddeningly tight, wet, mouth and those thick, perfect fingers of his pressing into John and testing his patience, but it was right as he’d gotten accustomed to a third finger and the sounds of Paul giving him amazing head were getting sloppier and sloppier that he realized he needed to get Paul to stop, or this would all be over before it had gotten started.

“Paul, Paul, stop, stop, I’m too close,” he gasped, his body trembling under the onslaught of sensation. Paul pulled back slowly, removing his fingers with similar care, giving John a moment to get himself calmed down enough to continue.

“Do ye think you’re ready for me, John?” Paul asked, his dry hand shifting down to palm himself again through the now even damper front of his briefs.

“Paul, I swear to god, if you don’t give me the large cock I’ve been practically begging you for for literal months, I will get up and go to the toilet and finish myself off and then go home, and you can sort yourself out without me,” John growled. Paul grinned, too worked up himself to laugh, and tugged off his own briefs. His prick was about as good-looking as a prick can be, flushed dark with the blood plumping it up to its somewhat intimidating length and thickness. It was precisely what John had hoped it would be, a little clear droplet at its tip making John wish he’d had the opportunity to return the favor, but Paul was already pulling on the condom and slicking himself up with another pump of lube.

“Right, do you have any preferences for how we do this? I’d like to see your face while we do it, but if you’d rather do it a different way we can save that for next time,” Paul asked, sounding breathless from the attention he’d paid himself.

“Can we do it from behind this time, I want you to really be able to give it to me hard, and it’s easier if we’re both on our knees?” John asked, hoping Paul wouldn’t mind.

“Mmm, you want to be feeling me all day tomorrow, huh? I’m sure I can make that happen for you, love. Go ahead and get comfy, then,” Paul murmured, kissing John and licking into his mouth one last time before letting him go to brace himself on his hands and knees. John gave himself a few slow pulls, looking over his shoulder as he watched Paul climb onto the bed completely and line himself up behind John, sliding his hot, thick erection up and down John’s crack a few times before pushing his head into John’s hole.

They groaned in harmony as that first bit of pressure gave way to pleasure, Paul slowly pressing in a little at a time, rocking back a minute amount before pushing in further with each tiny thrust until after a minute or two he was fully seated inside John and John was already afraid he’d end up finishing too soon, he’d forgotten how fucking _satisfying_ it was to be filled like this. And this was definitely the best real cock he’d ever taken (there was a lot to be said for vibrating silicon cocks, so sue him). Paul gave them both a few moments to adjust, and then, just like John had asked, he started giving him that large cock.

He started slow, pulling out nearly all the way before thrusting back in hard, making John nearly shriek the first time, not having expected to get exactly what he’d asked for. Behind those doe eyes lurked some kind of horny deviant, one who really knew how to use the gifts god had given him. Or so John thought to himself, in the brief moment where he was still capable of complex thought before Paul shifted his hips slightly and started grazing John’s prostate with nearly every thrust. All John could think then was _god, more, more, MORE, HARDER, DON’T STOP._

Paul didn’t stop, didn’t let up, only kept building his pace. He wasn’t pulling out quite as far now, choosing instead to keep it hard and fast, leaning over John so that he could lick and suck at his neck and whisper absolute _filth_ into his ear as he proceeded to destroy his sanity. Every few thrusts, a hand would come down on John's arse, that pain transforming into greater pleasure nearly instantaneously.

“Ohhh, John, you’re so fucking _good._ Feels so good giving it to you like this, like you’ve been begging me to do it. So fucking tight, so _hot_ , so _wet_. You’re only so good for me, aren’t you, love? Been hoping I’d just take you, give you every single inch just like this, hard and fast. I know you have, Johnny, I see how you look at me when you think I’m not watching, and listen to yourself now. Hear how good you are for me, practically crying with it, aren’t you? You didn’t know it would be this good, did you?” he whispered and groaned, only interrupting himself to suck at John’s earlobe. John had given up on keeping quiet, letting his wails and whimpers fall from his lips and not taking time to be ashamed by it. Because yeah, all right, he might sound like a cat in heat, carrying on like he was, but he’d rather let Paul know exactly how good he felt so he didn’t stop pounding into him, hips slapping against John’s arse repeatedly. 

“Yes, please, only for you, only good like this for you, oh, _daddy,_ ” John sobbed, not even processing what he’d allowed himself to say. Paul only faltered a moment, not even enough for John to notice, before he picked up the pace yet again, letting one of his hands slip down from John’s hip to curl around his cock.

“Oh, love, you’re incredible. Are you ready to come? I’m getting close,” Paul panted, starting to jerk John off without waiting for his answer. John could only whine with pleasure as his muscles tensed, the tight coil of orgasm finally snapping and sending him over the edge as Paul slowed down, filling the condom deep inside of John with a long moan of his own, his hand dripping John’s release onto the sheets below them as he gave his final few thrusts.

John wasn’t entirely sure what happened next, feeling positively dazed as he let Paul roll him over onto his back and away from the mess he’d made of the sheets. He was only aware of Paul leaving the room and returning with a warm washcloth and two glasses of water in the abstract sense. It wasn’t until after Paul had essentially dealt with the most urgent parts of the clean-up that his brain came back online, and he reached for one of the glasses Paul had set on his bedside table.

“Christ, Macca, you really don’t fuck around, do you?” John asked, voice raspy from the sounds Paul had wrung from him.

“I mean, you asked for a large cock…what kind of man would I be to deny you that?” Paul said, taking a long drink from his own water as he settled back onto the bed beside John.

“Probably a shit boyfriend,” John mused. “I asked so nicely, too. Would have been such a shame _not_ to give it to me, really.”

“I’ve got a spare set of sheets, so we can take these off, shower, and get to sleep once you’ve figured out how to use your legs again,” Paul snickered. “Assuming you want to stay the night, of course. No pressure.”

“After a shag like that? It’s practically mandatory that you snuggle me, make up for all the snarky comments I’m going to be getting from my manager tomorrow when I walk in there looking like I’ve been the victim of a violent cavity search,” John joked back. At Paul’s concerned look, he amended, “You didn’t really hurt me, Paulie. I’ll be a bit sore, probably, but I’m not bleeding and it’s a good kind of sore.”

“Well, in that case, let’s get up and get started putting the new sheets on and cleaning ourselves up so we can start the snuggling immediately. Can’t have you telling Marilyn I’m a mean boyfriend who destroyed your arse and then didn’t even snuggle you properly afterwards,” Paul said, pulling a groaning John up from the bed and shooing him off to shower.

As John closed the bathroom door and turned on the water for the shower, he thought to himself how truly lucky he was not to have fucked up this entire relationship before it even started. How lucky he was that Paul had given him a second chance, and how lucky he was that his boyfriend had such a wonderful large cock to give him, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you found/find any glaring errors I will endeavor to correct them, but seriously just lmk what you thought of it all! I wasn't at all sure this was where things were going to end up when I started writing this, because I didn't want to seem like I was condoning people getting with their stalkers/creepers, but I think John did enough character growth that he's allowed to get a nice large cock since Paul consented. Take care!

**Author's Note:**

> I've already finished this story, so unless I die before I upload them, you will be getting the other chapters. See you soon, and yes, I know the use of "you/ye" is inconsistent here, I'm experimenting with how I want it to be for something else I'm writing, but no, I will not be fixing it here because I'd rather die.


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